The Importance Of A Reputation
by Hogwarts Angel
Summary: Chuck is horrified to find himself considering a completely out of the box idea.


Chuck Bass was in need of gin. A _whole bottle_ of gin. He knew this because he was perilously close to considering a ridiculous idea. A completely unfathomable idea. Well…maybe not completely unfathomable. But still utterly beneath him, and definitely not worth wasting time mulling over.

He pouted in thought, arching one eyebrow for Blair's benefit, as she was staring intently at him.

"It's not really my style, Blair." He finally said.

"It _is_ your style," Blair corrected assertively. "You're Chuck Bass. It's what everyone imagines you'd be like in private anyway."

"No, I'm Chuck Bass and I have a reputation to uphold," Chuck countered.

"Well, just give it some thought," Blair replied. "I think you'd really enjoy it. Anyway, I have to go meet Serena for dinner. I'll see you later?" she asked suggestively. She was standing now, and she leaned over to kiss him, giving him an excellent view of her cleavage. His thoughts scattered, and when he'd gathered them after Blair had gone, he didn't think of it again.

The next time it crossed his mind was later that week. He was getting dressed for the office after his morning shower when he caught his reflection from the corner of his eye. Turning to face the full length mirror on the bathroom door, he eyed his figure speculatively. He looked good, he decided. Although he always did - he was Chuck Bass, CEO of Bass Industries, important male figure of his generation (especially in the eyes of the female population). He was built well, cut well, and he definitely cleaned up well. He knew he'd cut a fine figure in the Dior suit his servant had picked out for today. Nodding in appreciation of his good looks, he turned to the side, taking in the view from another angle. There was, however...Turning away from the mirror, he looked over his shoulder at his reflected backside. He was fit here, too, but did this measure up to the rest of his body? He frowned at his bottom speculatively. Could his butt hold its own in the Chuck Bass way of life?

The door opened suddenly, and Serena walked in, looking rumpled and hurried. She was still in her pajamas.

"Chuck!" she screamed when she spotted him. "Why are you in my bathroom? And why are you only wearing underwear?" She placed her hand on her hip and stared at him accusingly, one eyebrow raised.

He cursed himself for getting caught in such an embarrassing situation, but he met her stare coolly. "Good morning, baby sis," he drawled, not bothering to answer either of her questions. He watched her bristle, opening her mouth for a fiery retort, no doubt about their lack of siblinghood. But they were related whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not, and the thought of Serena's lack of choice in this matter made Chuck smile. He held up his hand to stop her from speaking. Miracle of all miracles, she shut her mouth again with an audible snap.

"I was just leaving," he told her. He proceeded to finish dressing, making no attempt to hurry, which he could tell irritated her even more. When he was dressed, he winked at her and departed, but his mind was still on his reflection.

* * *

Serena joined Dan on his bed, flopping back heavily. Her hair flew out to all sides with the movement, covering his bed in a web of delicate gold strands. He noted this, wondering if he could use the description in a story. He was always looking for something he could use in a story.

"How was your day?" He asked, lying back next to her.

"Not the best," Serena replied. "I just felt so gross all day because I kept having thoughts of Chuck in my shower."

"Wait, Chuck was in your shower?" Dan asked, confused.

"I woke up this morning to find him in my bathroom," Serena explained. "And I'm pretty sure he was checking out his ass."

"What?" Dan asked, sitting up. His mind was full of images of Chuck Bass winking at himself in a massive mirror. Sometimes he hated being a writer.

"And what's worse, he didn't have any clothes on," Serena continued.

Dan was horrified.

"You saw Chuck Bass naked?"

"Well, not naked. He had underwear on. I swear this has to do with this offer he got a couple weeks ago."

Dan sustained his silence. He was still disgusted with the images in his head, which had now become a lot more graphic.

Serena shook her head at his expression, but she didn't say anything else. She stared at the ceiling.

Dan, however, still wasn't over it.

"If I had seen Chuck Bass naked this morning, I wouldn't just be having a bad day. I'd be scarred for life."

Serena laughed at the absolute truth of his statement.

"Well, pray that it never happens then. I'm here to say that it's something I never wanted to see."

* * *

Blair decided that night that they should watch the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show to help him decide.

"Now pay attention to the way they look," she explained. She started the video she had pulled up, sitting back against her pillows. The women began parading up the catwalk, striking poses in front of the audience.

"This is a little girly," Blair admitted. "But don't they look proud? Think of how proud you would feel."

By the third model, Chuck was hard. He nuzzled Blair's neck, nipping along her jawline. These women were nothing compared to what he had right in front of him.

"Chuck, are you paying attention to the fashion show?" Blair asked.

"No," Chuck replied. "You're sitting right here, and you're much better looking than they are."

Blair laughed. "But you need to see that this is a good choice for you! I think you would really like it."

"I'll call them tomorrow and accept," Chuck said. He reached around her waist, unzipping her dress.

"Really?" Blair asked. "Are you sure? You haven't even watched the video yet."

Chuck grinned at her. "You always know what's best for me. I'll take your word for it."

Blair sighed, lying back on the bed. "Well at least you listen to me about _something_."

Early the next morning, Chuck called and, after thanking them for the opportunity, accepted their offer.

* * *

A few days later, Chuck found himself sitting in the bar of the hotel. Nate had called and asked Chuck if they could meet, but he hadn't yet arrived, and Chuck was growing impatient.

Nate breezed through the open doors of the bar just then, clapping Chuck on the shoulder and taking a seat on the barstool next to him. The bartender appeared seconds later.

Nate ordered a beer, then asked "What are you getting?"

"Nothing for me, thanks," Chuck dismissed her with a charming smile, then met the questioning stare of his best friend.

"Since when do you pass up the opportunity to drink?" Nate asked him with a bemused smile.

"I'm just not in the mood, that's all," Chuck replied, defensive but determined to seem nonchalant.

"Not in the…okay," Nate gave him a dubious look, but didn't comment.

Chuck hurriedly changed the subject in case Nate decided to ask more questions. "So what brings you here, Nathaniel?"

The bartender returned with Nate's beer, and Nate took a long swig before answering. Chuck eyed him, then internally reminded himself that alcohol made one bloat. Nathaniel would experience this, but not him. He needed to care for his physique. He was Chuck Bass. He had a reputation to uphold.

"I brought Vanessa to my Grandfather's charity luncheon for Trip's campaign," Nate began.

"Let me guess," Chuck drawled. "They weren't exactly welcoming."

Nate shook his head. "It's worse. They're trying to make her a political asset. Grandfather has been trying to turn her into Maureen all afternoon. 'Go stand by Nathaniel. Smile like the world is watching you. One day they will be.'" Nate shook his head in disgust. "Vanessa wasn't too happy."

Chuck held up his glass of water, making a cheers motion. "This is only the beginning, my friend. If you thought telling him you weren't interested was going to let you off the hook, then you clearly don't know your grandfather."

This earned him a wry smile from Nate. "It's not that I expected him to just let it go. I just didn't expect him to resort to _this_."

They were quiet for a moment while Nate nursed his drink and his thoughts.

"Hey man, can I run with you in the morning?" Chuck asked, breaking the silence.

Nate raised his eyebrow at him over his shoulder, before sitting up and turning to face him. He didn't speak for a long few minutes. Finally he replied, but not with the answer Chuck wanted. Instead, he needled Chuck for some of his own answers.

"Is this because of that offer? Did you decide you're doing it then?"

Chuck ignored his questions. "A man can't want to get some quality exercise in with his best friend, Nathaniel?"

Nate shook his head. He'd noticed that Chuck was hiding something, but he didn't press the issue. It was better if he didn't know, really. "Are you going to hold me back? I don't know what kind of endurance you have," he joked.

"My endurance is fine, Nathaniel," Chuck smirked at him. "I haven't heard any complaints."

Nate laughed, signaling the bartender. She disappeared to fetch another drink.

"Alright," he replied when she'd placed the bottle in front of him. "I usually leave around 6:30."

Chuck nodded, head deep in his mantra as Nate took another long drag from the new bottle. 'The less I drink, the higher the number of interested ladies will be. I won't be able to walk without being crowded in on all sides.' Chuck thought smugly. It would pay off. And he and Blair would celebrate afterwords with a nice bottle of champagne.

The thought made him smile.

* * *

Two weeks later, he was standing backstage peeking through the curtains. God there were a lot of people.

He stepped back, letting the curtain fall and taking in the chaos around him. People were running around this way and that. Hairdressers, makeup people, those annoying people who wanted to adjust his clothes _while they were on_. All of them were trying to get last minute corrections in before the show began. He frowned as someone came towards him, waving whoever it was away and striding purposefully towards the bar, which was well stocked with snacks and, more importantly, drinks. He took a swig from a champagne flute, only to be disappointed at its shamefully poor quality. Why hadn't he thought to bring a flask? It couldn't possibly affect him now. Then a thought occurred to him, and he looked down at his state of dress. Where would he have fit a flask?

There was something fundamentally wrong with clothes that had no room for a flask, he thought bitterly. How did people do this without being drunk anyway?

The lights dimmed momentarily, and someone announced "Two minutes until curtain!" Chuck's heart skipped a beat as he joined the line waiting to go onstage.. This was really happening. _Why_ was he doing this?

He pictured Blair sitting in the front row waiting to see him. Blair. Beautiful and sexy Blair, who put on shows for him every day and so could be counted as an expert in these matters. She'd told him it was nothing to worry about. That it would be enjoyable even.

She'd also told him she'd be really turned on, and would wait for him afterword so that they could sneak into the director's office. That's why he was doing this. For Blair.

The music began, thumping so loudly in the background that every hair on his body stood straight. He could hear a muffled voice over the speaker system, but his ears were ringing too much to understand what was being said. And he was cold. Really fricking cold. Didn't they have any heat around here?

Then someone walked up and took hold of his arm in a firm grip, using it to turn him towards the stage. Chuck bristled. Nobody had the right to just manhandle Chuck Bass. He whirled on the perpetrator, an unshaven man in a t-shirt and jeans who was talking into a headset. Chuck was intent on unleashing all of his frustration, and this man was about to be the unlucky target. But the man shoved him towards the stage, and Chuck's previous momentum carried him out into the spotlight.

"First up, the young CEO of Bass Industries and heir to the Bass legacy, Charles Bass!"

Chuck's snarl was wiped from his face as the blinding lights hit him. He was unsure of what came next, but, miraculously, the past two weeks of training kicked in and he began taking long strides down the catwalk. Thank goodness for his sergeant-like instructor, who'd drilled him through his every step for two hours every day this week.

The music was louder out here, and it seemed to be aimed at him just as directly as the light was. Every nerve in his body felt electrically charged, but a strange sense of calm had come over him once he'd stepped into the light. He scanned the faces and flashing cameras of the crowd, finding Blair sitting in the front row as promised. She was smiling up at him, pride evident in her gaze. 'I love you,' she mouthed when she saw him looking at her. Chuck smiled (smirked, really), and lifted his chin with confidence.

It was when he reached the end of the catwalk, leaning into a pose like the instructor had taught him, that he really felt the thrill of the whole thing. Applause and praise rang in his ears, cameras flashing from all sides. His form was reflected in a digitally enlarged image to the side of the stage, highlighting his bare arms and legs, and the navy blue Marc Jacobs boxers he wore. He scanned it quickly from the corner of his eye. He looked sinfully good, he smugly confirmed. And the whole crowd acknowledged it, screaming his name and cheering for him. Because he was Chuck Bass, the subject of each and every one of their dreams and fantasies. And it felt good to be standing up there in front of them all, each and every one of them obviously thrilled to be looking up to him. He was on the pedestal where he belonged, safely above the rest of society. And he felt right at home, he realized.

He was born for this kind of attention.

When he'd returned backstage, his heart was still thrumming with the rush of the audience's energy. What had he been so worried about? Here he was, finished with his short stint on the catwalk, and that had been the best four minutes of his life.

He waited by the bar, cockily sipping champagne and watching the other models come and go. That guy was too skinny, he decided about one of them. Couldn't he afford to eat? Another was too tan. This was the Upper East Side, not Florida. Too much brown and you started looking like one of the natives. All of them were notable men of the Upper East, contacted by the Marc Jacobs spokesperson as he had been. But Chuck couldn't see how a single one of them measured up to his good looks.

No wonder he'd been the leading man.

When the show was over, he joined the other men on stage for the curtain call. Blair stood in front of her seat, clapping and catcalling. Serena was standing, too, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless. Chuck was grinning now, his body flush with the heat of the spotlight and the attention of the crowd. He stood arrogantly, looking out at the sea of faces in contempt. '_That's right, take in what you can. I'm a taken man now,' _he thought, bowing low. There was no ounce of discomfort left in him.

After they filed off stage for the last time, Blair whirled into the backstage area, jumping up and kissing him spectacularly for the room to see. Who could have blamed him for pressing her against the wall and proceeding to follow his baser instincts? Apparently the director could, and quickly stripped Chuck of his girlfriend, pushing him towards the changing area. When he'd reinstated his normal attire, he resumed the kiss from where they'd left off. They found themselves ushered out into the bright sunlight through the back door. So what if he wasn't invited to the after party? He preferred more intimate gatherings anyway.

Later that evening, when they were lying tangled in the sheets with two glasses of champagne, Blair whispered into the silence, "You looked really sexy up there. I liked it."

"I could tell," Chuck smirked at her. "I'm pretty sure everyone backstage after the show knows it now, too."

Blair smacked his arm. "It was a crime of passion. So sue me."

He chuckled in response, then met her in a searing kiss. When they broke apart, she looked up at him, her doe-brown eyes wide and compelling.

"Do you think you'll do it again?"

Chuck kissed her on the nose. "Only if I get that reaction every time."

But in his mind he already knew that he most likely would. The thrill was too intense for him to stay away for long.

And that was how Chuck Bass came to be an underwear model.


End file.
